In a hidden room somewhere
deep within the bowels
of an inhumanity,
young Christian men
study the ancient text,
the world’s most published
book, find the words to affirm
their masters’ wishes.
It is all written there,
in the hellfires and damnations
no Hollywood special effects
could ever beget;
women turned to stone,
the legitimate rape of Eve
for creation’s sake,
the wicked children hurled
into the bottomless pit.
And of course, the end itself,
with only two each of all
heterosexual beings surviving
to resurrect it all
all over again.
The spite and malice
of God’s single mindedness
and unlimited power
has these young men
possessed by a rapture;
they go in heat to the Internet porn
warned about in the chapter and verse
of their employment.
Then they roam the night’s sacrilege,
seeking out whores to punish,
children to discipline,
animals in the acts
of copulation.
And while their masters wield
the sacred golden axe,
while flagellation is made
the frenzy of the day,
they are on their knees
in a hidden room somewhere,
deep within the bowels
where all that was written
finally comes to pass.
The body and blood
of the holy act splattered
across the pages
of the world’s most published
book; tomorrow’s headline
for the unbelieving.
Peter Buknatski
Montpelier, Vt.
(Gosh oh Golly, I sometimes surely want to be Elmer Gantry.)